“It’s true! Isn’t it, Polly? We’re third cousins! I found it in the Genealogy last night! Her mother was an Illingworth!”
Ilga’s face lighted.
“Oh, you’re ’way off!” she broke out. “She isn’t related to her mother at all. She’s only an adopted child.”
“But I mean her real mother!” returned Patricia indignantly. “Her own mother was Phebe Illingworth, and was second cousin to my father—as if I didn’t know!”
“I don’t care!” Ilga retorted. And she ran up the stairs.
Some of the girls, standing by, snickered; but Polly and Patricia gazed soberly at each other. Then they walked over to the rows of hooks, unbuttoning their coats as they went.
“I think Ilga Barron’s just horrid!” whispered Patricia. “I didn’t like her yesterday, and to-day I hate her!”
“Oh, you mustn’t!” objected Polly.
“Why not?”